


Heart Beats

by Klwriter79



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Sarcasm, Tasers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 09:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/977048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klwriter79/pseuds/Klwriter79
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like the familiarity of her taser, she just knows he is there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hjärta (Heart)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been posted at another website. After lurking around here for a very long time reading some great works, I now humbly offer up something of my own. My writing, mostly original poetry, has always been very personal and complex, but constructive criticism (or pretty praise) is always welcome.   
> No Beta, so all mistakes are my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters of The Marvel Universe and all characters thereof belong to them. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.
> 
> AN: Set after the Avengers, but alludes to Loki's experiences in both movies.
> 
>  
> 
> Let us begin at the end, where they begin. 
> 
> Darcy/Loki

* * *

 

She purposely takes no notice of it for as long as she could, which wasn't long at all. It niggles at her brain, worming inside her conscience until it flares a bright light. With a huff, she shuts her lids against the night and counts one hundred forty-eight heart-beats, hoping for a few more moments of calm and feigned ignorance. It doesn't work though. Like the familiarity of her taser, she just knows he was there. It brings little comfort. She feels paranoid and irritated all in one go. "You're obscene staring is disrupting my serene setting."

Thirty-three heart-beats in, her hand tightens around her taser. She wonders if her imagination has gone haywire. A soft chuckle assaults her ears.

"Pray tell, how is laying on an edge of the tallest building in this sprawling metropolis a calming endeavor."

"Don't knock it, 'til you try it." Stillness. She feels that unwavering gaze. It is unnerving. Seventy-one heart-beats. Her survival instincts burn, aching to react. Her body twitches with a rejected tremble. She lets words cover it lest he suspect her unease. "Up here one would almost think they could fly." The silence gapes, an unending space of heart-beats, fraying on her annoyance. "Tried it once you know, took that leap. A scientist I am not, but it led to questions I should never have analyzed." She is ambiguous in her meaning, but he picks it up anyway and she knows this too. Gambling her emotions on him is the scariest thing she has ever done; imprudent too, if she listens to her friends.

"Trial by fire has always been a penchant of mine. What did you conclude from that foray into the unknown?" His voice sounds closer, but she refuses to verify that observation.

"My ability to fly was an emphatic no." Her eyes remain steadfastly shuttered. "However, I fall quite spectacularly." Twelve heart-beats this time and then:

"So why chance the ledge?" She can hear the slight curiosity in his smirk.

"I am ogling the marvel that is our universe." The resounding 'duh' is heavily implied. Her words push forward without thought, covering the soft click of the switch purposely flicked by her thumb. His gaze never wanders. She wonders if this is what animals in a zoo feel like. She remembers, randomly, that she never liked zoos. Twenty-one heart-beats.

"Yet your eyes are closed." He is annoyed now; his voice conveys it in spades though he attempts to veil it with amusement. She is savvy enough to catch it. Forget the zoo; an ant under a magnifying glass had to feel safer than this. She continues on, as if unfazed. In for a penny . . .

"Of course, how else would one pay homage to its overwhelmingly beauty. It's frighteningly complex in that façade of twinkling simplicity; an intriguing duality one must confess." Five heart-beats.

"And if you were perchance to drop into dreams, a sleepy slip to your left would have you in dire straits."

Her reply is immediate: "Yes, but the few seconds of freedom are a magnificent view. Might be worth it to fall." His brain churns, she can feel it. An eternity of heart-beats. She has lost count. . . . In for a pound. "Did you fly?"

"No."

The air shifts around her, grows heavy. She breathes it in and opens her eyes. His own swirl in anguish above hers, before becoming obscured by a blinding rage. "My _fall_ ," distaste flavors the word as it leaves his mouth, "was a dramatic prelude to self-destruction and continued self-loathing" The rage vanishes in a blink and his gaze finally lifts past her into the night beyond. The emptiness now apparent in his eyes becomes more alarming than the emotion that preceded it. Her left thumb creeps upward. His voice continues, mirroring the apathy of those eyes that shoot back down to meet her own. The green depths flash red. "It was terrifying in its bloody splendor, the duality of it not unlike your own." He speaks with certainty of her life as his head moves, lowers slowly, red eyes closer.

His short shout echoes her own as jolts of high-voltage energy shove him up and back, onto the rooftop's floor. Her repressed tremble cascades into violent shakes as she slides to the right, over the ledge and huddles against the short wall. Ninety-seven heart-beats; the hum of electricity and ragged gasps are the only sounds in the motionless night. Then, her body stills; her breathing evens; her thumb turns off the taser.

Forty-six heartbeats.

Cloth scraping ground assaults her ears once, as he gets up; twice, as he slides down the wall to crouch beside her.

Sixteen heart-beats.

He is staring again.

She purposely takes no notice of it for as long as she could, which wasn't long at all. It niggles at her brain, worming inside her conscience until it flares a bright light. With a huff, she shut her lids and counts one hundred forty-eight heart-beats, hoping for a few more moments of calm and feigned ignorance. It doesn't work though. Like the familiarity of her taser, she just knew he was there.

Thirty-eight more heart beats in and his hand tightens around her taser. She opens her eyes to see him toss it over the ledge; a grand gesture for a being that can vanish it instantly. His jade gaze searches her own before tugging her into his embrace. She tenses, a fraction of a heart-beat, before relaxing into his space. Her head snuggles against his chest. "Loki, I'm sorry," whispers into his shirt.

Two heart-beats.

His sigh ruffles her hair, arms tightening around her, his salvation. Lips brush against her ear as he replies in kind, before sliding their bodies down to rest comfortably against the wall. His head tilts back against the ledge, gazing up towards the cosmos, mutely praying in desperation to the only Father he has known. He must fly this time if they are both to survive another fall.

In the stillness of the night, she falls asleep to the sound of his heart beat.

 


	2. Alfodr (All-Father)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This intense, self-reliant, private soul pleads to Him, after all this time. It brings them both low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters of The Marvel Universe and all characters thereof belong to them. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.  
> AN:  
> Originally it was supposed to be one-shot, but I wondered what the All-Father’s reaction would be. Still not sure how it will read, as I wanted to stay in third-person narrative. 
> 
> All of those pronouns might be confusing, so I capitalized the ones of the All-Father.

 

* * *

 

The voice sends Him to His knees, rocked to His core.   The hall is hushed.  His kingdom stares.  He ignores them.  He knows this voice well, no matter the lengthy silence.  The usually cultured, yet biting tone now colored with desolation.  His son.  _His._   From the moment He saved him, cradled him, Loki was _His._   Nothing, no one else mattered.  And now he was calling to Him.

_‘My independent soul, My son.’_

This intense, self-reliant, private soul pleads to Him, after all this time.  It brings them both low. 

He is the Father.  He is the King.  His kingdom must come first, always.  Hidden, their words slashed at Him as much as they did Loki.  He refused to silence them.   He would not bow down to them, nor would He allow Loki.  Tugging his hair, their heads kept high.   His sons must be strong and over time He is proud.  They stand tall, backs straight, eyes hard, weapons mighty.  His sons.  He wasn’t blind to their faults more so He believes they are strong enough to overcome them.

First Thor, His choice; cast down, he has a lot to learn.  His wings form within the help and at the expense of his brother.  The flight, breathtaking, awe inspiring, creates an opportunity for chaos.

Then Loki.  Caught up in the resulting down surge, unseen wounds burst from a deluge of deceit.  Blinded by misconception, he makes his choice.  The myriad of hues that explode in the descent singe His sight before their connection goes black.   Loki’s very being is masked by his desperate plunge. 

Through others He watches the self-inflicted plummet rip through all that is decent, staining the fabric of humanity with blood and hope.   They both break, the fissure between them profound.  Their shared pain burns deep in His son.  Forgotten wings shrivel in the blaze.  There is no flight.

 He stares out, past the cosmos.   He sees nothing, but He hears all.  The hushed murmurs of His kingdom rush past, their self-concern palpable.  Loki’s voice entreats Him still, not for himself, but for her.

He listens.  Her heart beats for him, heals him; His son.

It is decided. 

“Both My sons will rise.  _My_ choice; My _sons_.”

The power and possession of it sweeps from His body into existence, exhausting in its intensity.  His son will fly this time, it is the least he can do.  Thor had Loki; Loki will have Him.

‘ _Soar My Loki_ ,’ is His last conscious thought.  It is picked up on the wind; carried to all realms.

He falls into Odinsleep.

A sudden breeze sweeps in.  It twists through his hair, then whispers to his ear.  Loki closes his eyes, flexes his shoulder-blades, and smiles.

 


	3. Tengsl (Ropes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hears her voice, lyrics lost to the wing of the wind, but the sorrow filled tone has him stepping forward, to guard her from her own actions if necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters of The Marvel Universe and all characters thereof belong to them. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.  
> AN:  
> It was supposed to be one-shot, but we all know how those seem to work out. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Question – Does this chapter seem to fit well here or should it be before the All-Father chapter?
> 
> Thor has his moment.

* * *

 

In the shadows he watches. Oblivious, in purposeful disregard of all that surrounds her, the female takes in only that which tethers her to this world. The girl . . . or should he call her a woman? It is hard to tell sometimes, her shifting moods as erratic as a feather in the breeze.

In either case, she is the bond that holds a frail and shattered soul together. A soul, he reflects sadly, that he is guilty of carving with the dagger of ignorance and intolerance. If she were to fall, _'or jump' his mind interjects_ , the nine realms would be lost to the psychosis that would finally overwhelm his brother beyond redemption

At the same time, he worries, for this friend of his love and now sister of his heart. Is she strong enough to withstand the incessant tug-of-war between them all and silent storm raging within Loki? Her soul already battered and cracked; damaged, too irreparable, for a being so young. It should not have to bear the strain of which even the All-Father could not endure.

He hears her voice, lyrics lost to the wing of the wind, but the sorrow filled tone has him stepping forward, to guard her from her own actions if necessary.

There is a subtle shift in the air, a breath of frost. Loki materializes from nothingness. Her song freezes; her body now taunt. The arrival shifts his stance; some of the tension in his shoulders bleeds out and he takes a few steps towards the one that tethers him in sanity. Leaning back against the wall, the other resumes his sentry.

The silence aches for a long while. She finally splinters at the seam of her lips, never one to stay quiet for long. Their witty banter, laced with sarcasm and wounds, fills the night. He struggles to follow as their conversation, veiled with insults and palpable in its anguish, weaves through an eccentric path of metaphors. He closes his eyes to their caustic repartee.

A masculine yell and sudden electric discharge startles him. Mjölnir in hand, he flinches in empathy for a pain he is all too familiar with; yet he stops himself from intervening. They are not his to save. Besides, she needs it, this semblance of strength. Loki allows it, needing her.

He continues to watches the antagonistic pair, curled together along the ledge. Loki's voice reverberates through his mind, a begrudged thank you for protecting his _'precious, taser toting mortal_.' And in this moment of solitude, he leaves them. They are a Celtic knot; for joy or evil, their future is forever entwined. Together they will climb out of the ruins. Together they are safer from the demons that clatter at their minds. Together they will find a way to fly.

He makes a choice.

Thor will not let them fall.

There is no other option.

The fate of his universe is tethered to their own.


	4. Snærkonungr (Snow King)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One a metamorphosis of heat & pressure, the other tempered through fire and ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters of The Marvel Universe and all characters thereof belong to them. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.
> 
> AN: 
> 
> Loki's turn to have a voice. This point of view happens right before the roof scene in the first chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> current thoughts in bold and his flashback in italics - someone recommended that if the flashbacks make it confusing to read the Italics first, then go back and read the bold, then try both again. The placement of the flashbacks are done on purpose and tie into the current thoughts.
> 
>  
> 
> We come full circle and now end back at the beginning, or before the beginning to be honest.

 

* * *

 

 **He drops the ebony chess piece in her lap** _**.** _

 

 

_She stopped to breathe, and in the split second between insults he unexpectedly hurtled downward, hard and fast, shattering at her feet._

 

 

**It was more painful this time around.  Before, when he fell he remained whole; unorganized, chaotic, brittle, a lot insane, but all parts present and accounted for.  Now it is different.  With her own brand of wit, defiance and insouciance towards life she makes it different and in his own unique detachment he hates her for that.  Yet, in a stillness of air, she unknowingly captured his strongest piece on the board.**

 

 

_His normal disdain must have been distracted by her chest.  Well that is too crude and not fully true.  He was distracted by her candor (though other parts of her were just as intriguing, loathe as he is to admit).  For once, the wrath of verbal missiles was launched at the would-be lothario-of-the-arrows.  Though his extensive vocabulary lacked the term "nerf," context of her barrage was simple enough to deduce.  Don't use the lovely behind of Miss Lewis for target practice.  And if said archer ever again uses her butt in lieu of the Archery Butts S.H.I.E.L. D. provided him, her taser will be used in lieu of words._

 

 

**She looks over to the chess board.  White marble surrounds a lone piece of obsidian stone, firelight flickering off its delicately carved angles and hollows.**

 

 

_He refuses to admit any staring on his own part; however he does understand how an uncouth gnat that crawls through piping could get it wrong.  He desperately wants to call her out, but he derives too much enjoyment from the consternation in bow-boy’s expression.  Her way with words has always captivated his eccentric humor._

 

 

**Sharp eyes cleave to his, her language failing at this critical point.  They burrow into his mind, seeking what he will not say.**

 

 

_As he observed her fierce rebuke, he remembers her opening in their own ceaseless competition of torment.  A small, sphere of colorful candy ricocheted off his leather covered back end.  When he turned around, her intelligence gleamed through her rich, blue eyes, before it was swiftly shuttered. Those that missed her mental dexterity have not played the game long enough.  She smirked at his growl. His magic shimmered. Those bold red lips displayed pearlescent teeth moments before mocking fear painted her face.  Her bellow of: “Thor! Your pet needs a shorter leash and a choke-collar,” earns her a raised eyebrow and him a one trip ticket to the repeat lecture about playing nice with others. It also began their ritual contest of war. Her capacity to steal his queen as she parried his verbal joust is unmatched in his millennia of life._

 

 

**Her eyes dart back to the chess board.  They widen almost imperceptibly at the message mutely conveyed in timeless stone.  One a metamorphosis of heat & pressure, the other tempered through fire and ice. Genuine distress etches through her face before it is hidden with a well practiced veneer of annoyance.  Her eyes clash with his again.  He is ready for the battle.**

 

 

_Her censure trickled to a close and the belittled man rushes out of the room before her tirade started again.  He found it refreshing that this woman could send a grown assassin scuttling away like a roach in the light.  His appreciative clapping drew a smirk and her eyes lit up in unholy glee before she deigned to acknowledge her witness._

 

 

**They stare for an eternity and the master of lies conceals nothing.  Her façade cracks, desperation seeps through.  In sheer frustration she dashes the volcanic glass figurine to the floor.  She runs.**

 

 

_Her gamine grin turns to his as she asked “Was it something I said?”  She was the picture of innocence for a full three seconds before her infectious laughter reverberated through the space. In that final moment, those pieces of his splintered soul were forever bound to hers._

 

 

**His thoughts break like that cool piece of obsidian strewn in fragments across the tile floor.  He closes his eyes, gathering his reason and soothing his exasperation.  Eventually he walks calmly across the room to stand in front of their game.  With steady hands he gently lays the obsidian king on its side.  The gesture is reverently reflected with the marble.  He stares for one long moment, before casting his gaze toward the roof.  In an instant the room is vacant.**

 

 

_“Why do you relentlessly attack the queen,” he asked, in deliberate violation of their normal mode of communication.  His curiosity escapes its locked box in an impulsive need to be sated._

_She paused in her pursuit of triumph.  “Its historical strategy,” she claimed, looking up at him through dark lashes.  “The queen symbolizes the brains of the operation and protects the heart of the empire, the king.  It’s a classic warfare tactic.  You conquer the mind and make vulnerable the heart.  Everything else will fall.”  Her unvoiced “duh” echoes across the black and white board._

 

 

**Magic swirls in the empty room.  Both queens lay shattered on the floor.**

 

 


End file.
